As some of you are aware, esme has a fair collection of old tomes in her library, over four hundred in fact; many of them are tattified (Troposphere word), but all are treasured and have been read/consumed, or dipped into many times. Some are rarities, nay, yea, (way-hey) oddities that may hold for such boddities as your good (or evil) selves some interest (or otherwise find exceedingly dull, which, be it the case, keep shtum or there shall be consequences, but only in the form of the game of the same name — you must provide the paper, esme will furnish the affair with a dipping pen).

Today’s example is a hardback named ‘Old Blind Ned’ (Or The Lord Will Provide). There is no date printed within, however, the very small amount of information I can find online regarding the book says ‘twas published in 1884. They are wrong. Wrong I tell you! The proof of this time pudding (tastier than thyme pudding, but not that much), can be found within the fly pages at the beginning of the book, where we are informed, (in quite beautiful handwriting, I might add) that this particular copy was presented to one S.M. Hudson, at Christ Church Sunday School, on Whitsuntide in 1883. The year before! But wait, there’s more! – uses a large hook on the end of a long wooden pole to drag several followers back in by the collar as they try to flee the building through the side door – There is no author’s name printed anywhere, but I have managed to find out, thanks to the ‘Dictionary of Anonymous and Pseudonymous English Literature’ (1883) that a certain Mrs Mary E. Gellie** (also the author of ‘Louis Michaud’) had her tale published in 1881, not 1884 at all! Ha! If it weren’t for esme, the world (or rather you lot – gestures towards her audience of seven, all in the cheap seats, one of whom is picking his ear determinedly, another softly singing ‘The Funky Gibbon’, three are asleep and the last one is holding a picture of Barry Manilow and crying.) would think ‘Old Blind Ned’ was published three years later. Can you imagine the ramifications of such an error?!

The implications are minuscule, if indeed they exist at all.

The tale itself is religious in tone, (no shock there then, it being presented at Sunday School) the basic upshot being: ‘good things only ever happen because of God and how much you worship Him. So, think on’.

Utter claptrap.

However ‘tis printed on lovely old, textured paper, with beautiful small etchings within, and has a cracking cover featuring the titular character.

Here are a few such etchings, the cover and some innards.

It’s like the last days of Rome here on the Cloud at times.

Some of the other titles available;

‘Good Tidings for the Anxious — at last! Hahahahaha.

‘My Wife Did It’ – Can’t help but feel the ending has been given away there.

**But check out this nugget too; Here Old Blind Ned is listed as being written by Mary.E. Boddy, not Gellie at all, so they really didn’t bother checking their facts much by the looks of things, and I’ll wager she was paid all of nothing in an invisible envelope for her efforts an all.

It does actually. Most of them do, I picked up a few boxes from a very old library in the centre of the city that was clearing out a good few books as they didn’t have the space and many were damaged/falling to bits. They advertised on Freecyle and clearly didn’t just want someone who would sell the best of the bunch and chuck the rest away to have them. I told them my love of words and books and how cherished and safe they would all be should I be chosen to take them away and . . . I got them! Some had wee book mites in them, so I dusted them all down outside on a warm dry day, and now they reside in the Cloud’s library – beams

“Do I have to wash my hands to handle the book” I ask breathlessly. I do want to hold the book but I just polished my nails and I don’t have any more of the fairy dust to do them again. If I sit humming quietly with my hands on my knees will you read the story of old blind Ben to me? (giggle giggle) Hugs

Esme doesn’t wash her hands when handling the books, but esme has nice clean hands not sticky mitts, so, think on –laughs The nails would look divine on the cover mind you I’m sure Scottie, and I would happily sit and read the tale to you, if it weren’t so much codswallop you might never sleep again hahahaha.

Now, straight away I feel I want to learn more about Emily’s Willie, and the Hours with Working Women, and also Golden, Golden, All Golden — sounds positively Trumpian! But how beautifully those old books were crafted, designed and illustrated! And look at that exquisite handwriting on the front end paper, or as we call it in the trade, the FEP. I presume you appreciate a good FEP do you, Esme?

“We cannot keep paper in Hawaii, unless we have some sort of expensive dry storage” – Blimey. I’m not moving the Cloud to Hawaii anytime soon then. No old books around the house! – passes out.

I’m glad you like it; I enjoy the beauty of a book sometimes despite the theme printed on its innards. Many older books have these elegant signatures, and when a few people have owned the book you can see the degradation of handwriting over the century. The seventies had people writing in felt tip sometimes. Felt tip!! – (sends H, Prof Taboo and Swarn to the naughty step before any of them can open their mouths) I think there’s still some of that going on today, and many female authors do better using just their initials and surname to avoid any bias. You have to admire those women writers of old, frowned upon and often ignored unless using pseudonyms.

I’m keeping Mary alive by keeping the book in good condition and sharing its beautiful parts. ‘resuscitated’ – I didn’t give him the kiss of life and don’t fancy the idea, hahahahaha.

I knew you’d be piqued by that word (resuscitated) 😉 Yes, it’s one of the drawbacks of living in Paradise, for sure. But it Does make it easier to detach from ‘things,’ if one subscribes to the ultimate Buddhist tenet of non-desiring 😉 For things never last long here – nature is ever waiting to wrap her vine arms around whatever it is and take it back to her ample bosom. There’s a certain beauty in all of that, at least for those of us who love digging in this fecund earth. Peace, Ms. Esme! Have a lovely end to your week! ❤

I like ‘piqued’ much better — * nods and pockets it to toast for supper*

Having considered your lovely words Bela, I think I’ll move to paradise after all. Hahahahaha. You have a good point on the non-desiring front, though esme is quite besotted with items of age, still, one of those loves is rocks and minerals and volcanic rock is even more special, so there’d be no want there. Peace in return dear Bela, have a marvellous time yourself! ❤

Aww, thanks for the festooning, Esme! 😀 I would be thrilled to send you some volcanic rock, but there is some truth in the belief that Pele doesn’t like her lava to leave the island. People who do this are often beset by problems upon returning home. Our own post office in this tiny town has stories of receiving rocks in the mail, no return address – people simply returning what they’ve made off with. As I would be loathe to curse you, I’ll not extend said offer. But I will give some especially lovely rocks a caress for you today. ❤ Cheers!

That’s so thoughtful an idea, to send me some, thank you, but you’re quite right about not doing, though I’m already cursed like as not as I took lava from the Canary islands many moons ago and I doubt their volcanoes are very forgiving either hahahaha. I very much appreciate you stroking those rocks for me as well – beams a huge smile her way

esme surrounded by stolen cursed rocks and old books waving cheerily from upon the Cloud

One day, either when esme has moved onto the next level (Boss level), or if given notice that she may be leaving sooner than expected — she shall give away some of her favourites, book-wise, to some of her favourite people. So, think on, and try harder. (if that’s even possible – laughing)

I remember back in ’66/67 going with my father to a rural auction outside a town called Ramsey, where he bought an old trunk full of ”ancient” tools, and another filled with books for a mere couple of pounds – some books appeared so old the dust was probably under the protection of the Heritage Society of the UK.

I have been meaning to ask what ever happened to the books,but always seem to forget when we speak
I may phone him this weekend and we shall do the Hercule Poirot bit and see if I can track them down.

Ha! I’m pleased you enjoyed it sir. The books . . . by the Gods and medium sized dogs you should get that moustache stuck on and look into the books, you may find some absolutle gems. I know many people just threw ones like ‘Old Blind Ned’ out in the fifties and sixties, thinking them to be useless. They’re priceless!

I can’t find one online, so you might be right. In fact, I have a few like that, ones that aren’t obvious classics or collectors items. Some are just small stories from some cheap penny a book publisher way back when, and the writers might only have had a very short limited run of their stories as you say Meeka – (how do you prefer to be named by the by? I know some folks prefer that which is obvious, others like another name). I like to think of those women and men who penned said tales, and know in some form a piece of their heart and mind is still beating out here, still considered and read, and prized, a whole century or more later, just as I’d hope esme’s might be one day. I might have to bury it in a plastic bag to be discovered mind you, or it’ll end up in a charity shop for fifty pence.

Meeka or Meeks is fine. 🙂 And it’s sad to think that last vestige of someone’s immortality could rest in one, small, inconsequential volume of paper and ink. Maybe you could create a timecapsule type thing and bury it in the garden. Two hundred years from now someone might dig it up and wonder at the this thing called ‘a book’. 🙂

A friend once said he was thinking of doing that with his writing, that and plastering it up in the walls of a house, which really appeals to me in a spooky way laughs Still, I think it’s nice to have a small testament to one’s existence out there a century later, even if only one copy remains, but is treasured.